


A Pirate's Life For Me

by moonix



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Ghislain is a man mountain, Luvander is a treasure and a constant fucking delight, M/M, Pirate Husbands, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Steelhands pirate captain Ghislain brings back some loot for his pirate husband Luvander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pirate's Life For Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capncrystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrystal/gifts), [luvanderwon (missbysshe)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=luvanderwon+%28missbysshe%29).



> Inspired by @capncrystal's prompt "3 sentence Fic: Luvander decided to go with ghislain instead of opening a hat shop. Pirate!Luvander. Luvander surrounded by pirates. Anything." It started out as a three (well, five) sentence drabble but then this happened. Oops.
> 
> No trigger warnings as far as I can tell.

“My dear, I think you need a new hat.”

Ghislain walks up to him, his arms full of looted shit that none of the other crew members are going to want, but which Luvander already knows is going to go up in their cabin later: another terrifying wooden mask, a long string of oversized and unshapely glass beads, a pair of animal horns, three dented copper kettles.

“I’ll be needing a bit more than that,” Ghislain grins, lopsidedly, and Luvander runs his hand over the side of his head, where the hair and half of one eyebrow has burned off in uneven patches.

“Mm, so you will,” he purrs, pulling his battered pirate husband in close by his singed lapels. “Lucky, then, that your husband is well-versed in the art of haberdashery.”

“Haberdashery,” Ghislain repeats, mouthing a salty line along Luvander's temple, “is that what the kids call it these days?”

“I wouldn't know,” Luvander says and relieves Ghislain of the animal horns to test how sharp their tips are. There's a silver locket on a chain dangling from their base, the kind that young girls gift to their lovers, and Luvander smiles, because he knows that Ghislain got it for Raphael's collection. He pricks his finger on the horns, wincing, and Ghislain dumps his loot in a nearby crate, gently takes the horns away from him and tugs his hand up to his mouth to kiss the injured finger.

“Are you feeling old again,” he mutters, an amused twist to his lips like spindrift bobbing on the waves. “Because I can help with that.”

The ship creaks under them as they move out into the open sea, a mischievous wind whipping the sails and plucking at their clothes. Ghislain smells smoky and sooty like they all used to when they came back in from a raid, and for a moment, Luvander does feel old, with his thirty-five years and the ache of his lost dragon still burning in his joints, arthritic and hot. He's had to learn the hard way that not even all the salt water in the world can quench the phantom fires of Yesfir in him. Lucky he has a pirate husband to jump into the sea after him every time he decides to test this out and drag him back up.

“What about your duties as captain of this vessel,” Luvander says, and fondly pats the nearest part of the _Yesfir II_ that he can reach. Her dark, polished wood feels so very different from the smooth, echoing thrill of metal scales, but in a way, Luvander is glad of it; he couldn't bear such intimate reminders every day.

“I have an excellent first mate who's more than happy to take over my duties for a couple of hours,” Ghislain grunts, picking Luvander up bridal-style now and carrying him over to where their cabin waits, small but cosy, decked out in looted odds and ends, a giant colourful patchwork hammock taking up most of the rest of the space. It has started to feel like home, lately, and Luvander has squirrelled away a bottle of spiced wine for them to share later, to celebrate the newest pile of junk Ghislain has brought back.

“A couple of hours, hmm?” Luvander smirks. “Sounds promising.”

Ghislain doesn't say anything, as he is a man of few words, until he's gently deposited Luvander in their hammock and had a little wash in the bucket of warm soapy water that Luvander has prepared for him. Luvander has had to adjust his own standards of cleanliness ever since becoming a pirate husband, but there are certain rules he's managed to implement and certain benefits that come with being not just a pirate husband but the pirate _captain's_ husband, and Ghislain is happy to abide by them if it gets him Luvander's affections after.

“Got you something special,” Ghislain tells him when he's crawled into the hammock with him, shirtless and damp, the water steaming off his skin. The hammock changes its rhythm with his added weight, and Luvander stretches out along the length of Ghislain's body like a cat and drapes himself over his massive chest to play with the pendants on his neck: teeth and jaw bones of various ravenous inhabitants of the sea, a tiny golden compass, a scorched piece of driftwood.

“Not another wild boar statue?” Luvander asks suspiciously and glances over to the corner of their cabin, where two such monstrosities are bolted to the floorboards, their mouths open in silent squeals, fangs bared and eyes rolled back in a frozen moment of wild frenzy. He shudders. The things give him the creeps, especially at night, when he gets up to relieve himself and has to pass them in the moonlit darkness on his way out.

“Poor Marlene and Mafalda,” Ghislain grins, “so unwelcome in their new home.”

“What is it with you and naming hideous things,” Luvander grumbles, tracing one of Ghislain's squid ink tattoos, a sprawling set of meticulously done metal gears up the side of his ribcage. The original drawings were Magoughin's handiwork from years ago.

“Didn't hear you complaining that time I brought back the -”

“Yes, yes,” Luvander says hastily, his eyes automatically drawn to the little treasure chest of his Very Personal Belongings, “I appreciated that, now put me out of my misery and give me my special present.”

“Always after the shiny things, my little magpie,” Ghislain mutters, amusement caught in his rough voice like tiny fish in a net. Luvander pokes him between the ribs, and Ghislain pulls out a small, smudged parcel wrapped in oilcloth and hands it to him. “Careful now.”

“Is it going to jump out at me? Is it still alive?” Luvander squints at the bundle, but takes it anyway. It doesn't feel alive in the way a small squirming animal does, like the time Ghislain brought back a bag of newborn kittens, which have since grown up and like to lounge in the sunny patches on deck and trip Luvander up whenever he isn't paying attention. Ghislain maintains that a ship needs cats, and, alright, so far they've had rather smooth sailing overall ever since the kittens have joined them aboard. But there is something about whatever is in the parcel that doesn't quite feel _un_ -alive either.

He peels back the dirty cloth edges one by one, curiosity getting the better of him like always, and then the thing lies exposed in his palm, dented on one end, but otherwise intact and gleaming, as if Luvander's just polished the soot off it yesterday: a metal scale, rosy gold, like Yesfir had around her snout in that vaguely moustache-like pattern that Luvander has stroked his fingers over so often he still knows exactly how it felt under his skin.

He holds his breath.

“Couldn't just leave it there, could I,” Ghislain murmurs quietly, the tip of his pinky hovering over the scale, but not touching. “Little piece of your precious, in filthy peasant hands.”

“No,” Luvander agrees, his eyes prickling like he's forgotten his flight goggles and the smoke from Yesfir's mouth is filling them up, “no, indeed, unworthy bastards, oh gods. _Where_ did they even find that?”

“I don't know,” Ghislain says grimly, “but it's not the first I've heard of dragon parts being auctioned off on the black market like prime cuts of meat.”

Luvander is quiet for a moment.

“You know, I've always felt like leading a pirate's life has certain... advantages,” he says lightly.

“And those are?” Ghislain grins.

“Well, for one thing, I don't have to pay unreasonable amounts of money for – shiny things anymore,” Luvander elaborates, holding the scale up against the light. Now that the shock has worn off, he is slowly regaining the old familiar feeling in his chest, something akin to a cat's purr maybe, that comes with being gifted valuable items, a possessive sort of clenching and rumbling that also often has the side effect of making him hard. He wraps the scale back up in its cloth, puts it in his breast pocket and presses himself into Ghislain's side again with a sigh.

“The other, obviously, being that I get to settle those accounts in other, much more enjoyable ways,” he breathes, and slithers down the length of Ghislain's body to start doing just that.


End file.
